


Bad Things Happen Bingo

by Flazéda (peternurphy)



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Dark, Fluff, Government Experimentation, Guns, Kidnapping, Lifted by the Neck, M/M, Mentions of non-con, Modern AU, Mouth Sewn Shut, Mugging, Nerve Damage, Nyarlathotep being a kinda shitty partner, Pneumonia, Sensory Deprivation, Starvation, World War I, dragged by the ankle, truth potion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-07-10 10:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peternurphy/pseuds/Flaz%C3%A9da
Summary: Done for Bad Things Happen Bingo, because I don't know when to quit I guess.





	1. Starvation, Rantep

**Author's Note:**

> This is for LaurenCrabtree [on here and tumblr], the prompt was Starvation for Rantep.

It had started as a diplomatic event. He had ties to the One-in-All; he thought of himself akin to the Earthly Pope in his role as the King of Ilek-Vad. His political say was minor, but he had to be present for these events, especially for a meeting in the godly city of Kadath. The Great Ones had a tendency to look  down upon humans, and his presence would force them to reckon with the threat of the One-in-All. He had expected condescension. He had not expected an ambush.

Nyarlathotep was the one who had greeted them at the docks. He had asked to speak with the King, and in the disguise he wore, Randolph had decided he was safe. Besides, the Key made him feel invincible. The moment he had gotten away from the docks he had been bound and sequestered and thrown into the tower. From the window, he had been able to watch his ships sailing away.

The first seven days, he learned nothing. He didn’t even know who it was that had taken him. A black pipe had dripped water for him into a small basin, by the time he became desperate enough to try and drink from it (with a conveniently provided glass goblet) he found it was pure and clean and cool. He had a bath and a supply of soap, a comfortable enough bed, a toilet - but no food. 

That had made him upset. Surely, he wasn’t locked up here to just die. Otherwise, his captor would not have bothered with the water, or the bath, or the toilet. Randolph had looked out the window several times, as well. He was in Kadath - so that gave some hint as to the captor’s identity. But as the hours stretched into days, he found it harder to focus on solving the problem with how his stomach panged and hurt. He had started to collapse if he stood too quickly, and moving his body became difficult. Randolph would take care to walk around his room, to do light exercise to try and keep his muscles from atrophying away. But he kept it light, to preserve energy.  At first he had daydreamed about meeting his captor, or returning home. By the end of that week, he was daydreaming about food.

And that was when Nyarlathotep appeared.

Randolph had searched the room hundreds of times, by his own estimate. He had not found a single door or exit. But he awoke on the morning of the eighth day to see the Crawling Chaos standing over him, in the same translucent robes and golden crown of their first meeting, and smiling. 

“Randolph Carter,” he spoke, ”You-”

”Save it.”

The neutral smile turned far more malicious. Nyarlathotep’s eyes narrowed like a contented cat, and he crouched next to Randolph to stroke his face. ”You humiliated me, dearest,” he said. ”I let a human escape - and so spectacularly as well. I have not yet lived it down, you see, so I had to bring you here. But as you can see, I am quite kind of a captor. Are you hungry?” 

The smell of fresh bread wafted through the room. Despite his body being mostly reclined in the bed, Randolph felt faint again. He steeled himself and looked Nyarlathotep in the face, into the eyes that absorbed all light. ”I am, in fact,” he said coolly.

”I can bring you food, Randolph Carter. I shall bring you anything you want.” 

”And what do I have to do to get this food?” Nyarlathotep rolled his eyes at Randolph’s questioning, but Randolph crossed his arms. ”Don’t act indignant. We both know there’s some catch - so let’s just get that out of the way, hm? I might even take you up on your offer.”

Nyarlathotep kept his smug expression. Randolph could not see where it was produced from, but a tendril held a leather collar in front of his face. ”You don’t even have to do anything with it. All you have to do is wear it.”

”You know I’m not going to take that.”

”I did,” said Nyarlathotep. The collar vanished; it was replaced with a golden bell. He set the bell at the top of the dresser. ”Once you change your mind, you can ring the bell and summon me. Otherwise, I will make my offer again after seven days. Have a pleasant week, Randolph Carter.”

Randolph had opened his mouth to yell at Nyarlathotep to take his damn bell and shove it - but the Crawling Chaos was gone. He pulled his legs close to his body and shivered. Then, slowly, he stood up. No, he would not take this offer. He walked towards the window and looked down - it was a quite a height. Other buildings that, from the ground had seemed massive, appeared as children’s toys from his height. 

Maybe that would make it faster.

There was no latch to open it. Randolph had not expected as much. Instead, he went back and took the table next to his bed. But with how weak his muscles were, he could not lift it. He pulled up on it - but nothing happened beyond it sliding slightly. He sat and he cried.

The next seven days were less active. He justified his staying in bed with preserving energy. Eventually, the sensation of hunger itself became too difficult to notice - same with his thirst. After his lips started cracking and his throat started aching, however, he forced himself to go to the basin and drink a cup of the water every half-hour. It helped with his throat and his mouth, but it did nothing to help the exhaustion and muscle loss, or the slight swelling in his legs, or the hair that fell out in clumps. When he used the toilet, he was forced to stare into a glass mirror at his haggard face as his muscles strained to force mostly liquid waste out. He would stare at the window in desperation.

And like Nyarlathotep promised, he appeared on day 15.

”This must be very unpleasant for you, Randolph Carter.”

”It is.”

”The collar has no magical properties. You would simply wear it, and I would start providing you food. And it would be good food, too. I am a god - I have access to whatever you may want.”

”I know there’s a catch.”

”Really, Carter, there isn’t. Or may I call you Randolph? Randy?” His tone was mocking.

”Whichever. I’m not wearing the collar.”

Nyarlathotep’s smile fell as he realized his words had had no effect. He crossed his arms again and huffed loudly; the same fresh bread smell began to flow into the room. He didn’t stop at bread, either - Randolph could make out several different kinds of meats, and fruits, and pastries. ”Stop it,” he said weakly. The smells stopped.

”Remember, you have the bell. And if not, I’ll make sure you’re alive the next time we chat. You can’t bring death to you by jumping, Randy, and neither will it come to you by this.”

He was gone again.

After that day, Randolph began to find it harder to muster the energy to go and get water. Several times, his arms would fail him and he would drop the cup into the basin. When he reached in to take it, the water felt like it was freezing. He stayed in bed otherwise - mostly sleeping, dreamlessly skipping time between the days. He didn’t even count anymore. He would sometimes measure the effects of the starvation by looking at his ribs or wrapping his hand around his arm, but otherwise, it would be a blur until Nyarlathotep arrived.

Then the rashes began to appear. They itched when they didn’t hurt, and they hurt when they didn’t itch. Randolph found sores where he lay as well - but it was hard to find any comfortable position with where the rashes were, with the swelling in his legs, and with the increasing effort it took to breathe. The thought of himself fading away eventually was a comfort - now, he was counting down the days until he just stopped breathing altogether.

And it happened. His diaphragm stopped moving. The suffocation happened slowly - his breaths grew shallower and shallower, and did less and less. His vision greyed in and out; sensation faded slowly. His head ached, but the rest of him could barely process pain.

Nyarlathotep’s words came back to him at the same time as his gasping breath. The air rushed into him like somebody was shoving it in, and his lungs expanded painfully into his ribcage. There were several strong, forceful breaths that made his eyes water and his mouth go dry. When they stopped, the weakness in his diaphragm returned. 

He forced himself up. His body hit the floor, but he was still conscious enough to pull himself towards the dresser and into an upright position. And as the greying on his vision started to return, he took hold of the bell.

 


	2. Mugging, Carren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for shewaltzeswithshoggoths on tumblr, prompt was Mugging and I decided to make it Carren.

When he returned from France, Randolph had been allowed to keep the MAS 1873 revolver he had been given in the war. At first he could not bear to look at it. He kept it locked in his attic, in a box near the back of all the things he was trying to forget about. It sat underneath an easel with Pickman’s initials carved into the wood, underneath an old length of black canvas so he wouldn’t see it if he had to come up to find something.  The bullets were kept separate as well, in another locked box under loose floorboards in the cellar. The box’s key was in his closet. The gun had tempted him too many times before.

That all changed when he met Harley Warren. Or rather, after he had come out to the man, began a relationship with him, and moved in with him. The urges were still present, but they were far lighter. Perhaps it was that Harley calmed him down. Randolph had somebody to come home to, to speak to, to take the load off his constant, melancholy introspection. On top of that, life with Harley never gave him the time for that introspection. There was always some action, some study for them to bury their respective selves in. Randolph simply had no more time to contemplate suicide.

At the same time, he began to carry the gun wherever he went. The new life he led with Harley made it a necessary. Sometimes, it was because of their mutual interests. Cults and eldritch entities and independent occultists were dangerous. A handgun made things more secure in their dark dealings. But more often, the nature of their relationship made Randolph feel he needed to have the gun - with Harley, or without.

It was a Thursday night the first time he fired at a human west of the Atlantic. 

Harley asked him why he was taking the gun. “We’ve never needed it outside of a few scares,“ he said. He was sitting outside on the porch at this time, sipping a drink and looking at Randolph as he loaded the revolver. 

“You know the one night I don’t take it, someone will attack me.“

“Your nerves, Carter!“ Harley laughed, and Randolph bristled slightly. “Well - I suppose you won’t be fighting off anybody with your fists.“ His drawl came out. Randolph sighed. 

“I’ll be back soon, regardless. I simply have to go and pick up the books you wanted.“

“You’re a peach, you really are.“ Despite himself and his age, Randolph blushed - and when Harley called out “Love ya“ to the car, Randolph shouted back “Love you too“.

The rendezvous point was near the port. Randolph parked as close as he could manage; the walk was only ten minutes from his car. To his surprise, the negotiation was entirely smooth. Perhaps the man saw him as a business partner of Harley’s - or perhaps Harley had told him ahead of time. It wasn’t the first time Randolph was sent alone on Harley’s business. He left with a smile and a rather generous tip for the porter. 

He hummed to himself as he walked back to the car. It was dark around the city. In this region of the state, Randolph had seen a distinct lack of activity as it got late. Arkham and Boston had their Puritan roots, but that hardly stopped the revelry and lights from shining into the night. Baptists, apparently, were less inclined to parties. The light of the moon was present, but despite stories, he found it insufficient to navigate by in the unlit port town. He mostly hoped he was making his way to the car.

He listened to cicadas and frogs and the occasional owl in the nearby wilderness. It was comforting as the feeling of being somewhat lost started to descend upon him. The books were a weight in his bag; at times he would switch arms to relieve the strain. He remarked to himself about going soft since the war.

He was answered by a shout and a light shining directly into his eyes. Randolph yelled and stepped back a bit. His heart pounded and his vision greyed out, but he squeezed his legs and managed to stay upright. “Hand over the bag if you want to live!“ The voice was clearly male, but it was high pitched and shook. As Randolph’s eyes adjusted, he saw a young man with a knife pointed at him. The light pointed at him made it hard to make out features, but he could discern that this fellow was shorter than him, and 

“I will not do that,“ answered Randolph. His own voice shook as his hand crept towards his holster. 

“Look you fucking queer, I know what you were talking to the man for, I know who Harley Warren is - I won’t ask again, dammit, give me the books!“

At the moment Randolph drew the gun, the man swung the knife at him. His arm swung in a wide arc and the blade cut through the shoulder of Randolph’s jacket; Randolph’s finger squeezed the trigger. He dropped his arm and stepped back as he processed the massive bang and the ringing in his ears. It was high pitched; it surrounded his head. But coming through the ringing, he heard the sound of a human body falling onto the ground. Randolph looked down at the body and saw blood leaking from a hole in the cheek, surrounded by a growing burn mark.

He grabbed the bag and ran.

He found the car almost preternaturally fast. It was as if it had materialized from the gunshot. Randolph was thinking nothing and paying attention to nothing as he started the car and drove back. Only the high pitched ringing hung in his senses. The rest of his body acted as an automaton until he reached the empty porch and stepped inside.

“I was right,“ was the first thing he said. He laughed as he set the gun on the table in front of Harley. It clattered as it hit the surface; perhaps it was unsafe, but Randolph couldn’t bring himself to care. “

“You mean...“ Harley’s voice cut through the ringing. “You shot somebody? You - you pointed the gun, you pulled the trigger?“

“I was in the Great  _ fucking  _ War, Harley, I can shoot a damn mugger.“ Randolph’s voice wavered heavily as he spoke. “He made the first move, anyway. Swung the knife and said I’d die if I didn’t give him the tomes. They’re in the library in the bag - they’re fucking heavy, you know. I ran away from it - I wasn’t going to get the damn police involved, have them asking who I was living with and what I was carrying with and the  _ nature  _ of our  _ arrangement- _ “

Harley stood up slowly. His glass (now water) was lowered as he approached the shaking Randolph.

“You did the right thing.“


	3. Sensory Deprivation, Rantep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by autisticandroids on tumblr. Modern AU.

Randolph felt the headphones slipped over his head, and after a few minutes, he lost the entire room.

He settled against the chair again. Everything was heavily padded - there was no part of the setup that dug unpleasantly into his skin, and the texture was innocuous enough that he could easily forget about it if he stayed still. Whoever was running the dream study clearly had money to make the sensory deprivation actually deprive him of sensory. The light noise of the headphones even grew fainter as he lay still.

He had been instructed to not move at any point. There were loose restraints around his wrists and ankles to keep him from breaking the experiment by touching his hands or moving. Randolph asked about it - it seemed almost suspicious. But he was told that the experimenters wanted to see if he could enter his state of dreaming through the sensory deprivation, and he was willing to oblige. To Randolph, it seemed simple enough. He searched for the stairs into Deeper Sleep as indications of the Waking World left him.

“You won’t get to the Dreamlands this way, Randolph Carter.”

Randolph screamed, and he wasn’t certain if he had done it in his real body or not. He couldn’t see the source of the voice, and he looked around desperately for it. The chair was gone, and so was the headset he had to wear. Now it was just his body in the dark nothingness; vague shapes floating across his vision and soft waves of noise in his ear. 

“You need to be asleep, first of all. And they heard you scream.“ The silky voice paused to laugh 

quietly at him, as the shapes in Randolph’s vision started to coalesce. The light blue ellipse pulled into being less blurry as small pink circles spun around it. But contrary to what Randolph expected, they simply continued to stay shapes and never became a humanoid figure. “You’re just as naïve as you were before. You really think this is simply a psychological study?”

“It’s from the psychology department,” answered Randolph. “What else would it be?”

The laughter returned, far louder. “You’re speaking to the entire room, you know. Besides - anyone can say that they’re the psychology department - and I’m certain a large enough donation would make the university happy to rent out their building to anybody and anything. Did you recognize any of the people who got you in this device?“

“Who would want to pretend to be the psychology department?”

”Randolph, dearie, you’re still speaking out loud. They can  _ hear  _ you.”

”Well how am I supposed to communicate? Who even are you?” He shouted it - even if there were people in the room listening, even if he was only yelling at a part of his own mind, he was angry enough to shout.

The shapes stopped moving in his vision now. ”You can just listen, then. When you get home, get on your little… computer, now? You humans move so slow with these things. Yuggoth only took a few hundred years to get there. Regardless, go look into something called MKULTRA-”

”That was the 70s. Some omniscient being you are.” Randolph, in fact, had no idea if the being speaking to him was omniscient. It mostly slipped out automatically; he knew not where from.

”Don’t talk back to me, Randolph Carter. Though, at least you remember.” The pink circles grew and began to glow more brightly. Even though they were not real, his eyes hurt from it. He hissed loudly in pain, and they stopped. ”Where was I? Oh, yes. The point isn’t that this  _ is _ the thing. The point is that there is a precedent to this. But by all means, come to further experiments. I do so want to see how this plays out.”

Randolph suddenly felt a jolt of burning through his entire body. It started at his feet and continued up through his calves, his thighs, his hips. It lingered around his genitalia before continuing into his stomach and lungs. Breathing felt like he was pushing molten lead in and out of his nose and mouth, and he began to scream loudly and thrash against the restraints. They were soft, but they brought him back to his physical body as the padded leather dug into his wrists. It was unpleasant, but it stopped the burning.

Quickly, he heard the white noise stop as the headphones were pulled off. ”Carter?” said a voice - the woman who had strapped him down. Randolph stopped screaming and panted loudly as he came to. ”I’m going to take off the blindfold, you can open your eyes if you like.” He did, and as the blindfold was removed, he saw the room was dimly lit. ”We’ll give you a few minutes to adjust before the interview.”

Randolph nodded. He reached for his glasses, then looked up at her. ”Before… before I started screaming, did you hear me say anything?”

”No,” said the woman. ”Why?”

”Oh… I just talk in my sleep sometimes,” he said. It was a weak lie, but he stuck by it. He drew his knees to his chest as the woman began to input information into a computer. He moved a bit closer, glancing over her shoulder.

The words of the entity echoed in his head as he saw ”Who even are you?” typed next to a timestamp.


	4. Lifted by the Neck, Rantep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by antiquarians on tumblr.

After several days of climbing, Randolph Carter made it to the peak of the mountain and looked out over the landscape surrounding him. Nyarlathotep had warned him not to try it, everyone Randolph met on his way warned him about the dangers on the mountain face, but Randolph had done far more dangerous before. He wanted to know why it had no name.

He set his bag and staff down on a flat rock and sat with his legs hanging over the side of the cliff. Nothing on his journey had seemed out of place or strange. The only dangers had been the wild animals near the base and at the foothills, and the potential of falling as he climbed higher up. Now he could see everything, and he pushed a small stone off the side to watch it tumble and fall along the rock. For a few seconds, he could hear the echo of it hitting the side of the mountain. Then it stopped, and he lost sight of it.

He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he felt a chill wind. He smiled as he glanced at the small, multi-colored brooch Nyarlathotep had gifted him. It was a simple, geometrical pattern - the blue stone in the golden inset evoked wings, and the center held a triangle of a deep red gem. It wasn’t, as far as Randolph knew, an exact recreation of the jewelry of ancient Egypt. In fact, it rather reminded him of the Art Deco that he had come to see in the Waking World after his return from the war. But Nyarlathotep did always enjoy putting his own spin on things.

The cold wind continued to intensify around Randolph. The lack of snow on this peak had always been strange, both to Randolph and the Dreamland inhabitants that lived just outside the kilometer radius from the base. It had made the climb easier, but now the heavy chill was starting to weigh on him. He pulled himself up to stand further from the edge and began to look around. Perhaps if he could find nothing it would be best to go back down - if only to avoid freezing to death at the top of the mountain.

Randolph began to walk towards the edge. A low rumbling resounded up from within the mountain. He stopped and stared at the rock beneath his feet, but he saw nothing but the same sun-bleached gray. He slung his bag over his shoulder to begin to trip down the mountain when the rumbling sounded, this time far louder and continuous. Beneath his feet, the ground began to vibrate.

The vibrating grew into heavy shaking. Randolph flattened himself against the peak. It had to just be an earthquake. He held his hands over his head as he waited for the shaking to stop. But as he held his head down, he failed to keep his eyes shut - and he could see beneath him the rock starting to crack. A few cracks didn’t worry him at first. But they grew in length, and then in width, forming thick black lines between the suspiciously smooth rock. 

Randolph crawled to what seemed like a safer place between the growing cracks. He clung to the edge of a crack. Now he finally felt a sense of dread. He had hardly thought about the possibility of dying in the Dreamlands, but at the peak of this shunned mountain, with cold wind whipping his cloak up from his body and the deep insides of the mountain growing visible as the shaking intensified, he could see his body crushed under the miles of rock. The cracks around him widened further, and he could hear Nyarlathotep’s voice in his ear. 

The rumbling never left its low pitch. But a screeching noise of stone against stone ground at Randolph’s eardrums as he felt the angle of his body change. He had been roughly horizontal; his left side was now slipping with the rock. He could either jump off the falling slab of rock before it descended into the earth, or he could cling to it and hope it would become wedged between other falling boulders. As Randolph lingered on the two choices, he lost the former.

Then he was in freefall. His hands left the rock and his body tumbled among massive boulders and rock dust that stung his eyes and made him cough. He grabbed at the boulders to try and find a way back up, but it did nothing. He would be lost. Would an outer god even grieve?

Randolph Carter would not find out. Not because of the fall into this forsaken place, but because of a claw that pressed firmly into and wrapped around his neck. His body jerked as it was suddenly stopped; he didn’t even try to fight or scream. He barely noticed it until seconds after the fact, when he was gently being pulled up and out of the mountain.

“Did I not tell you to avoid this place, Randolph Carter?”

Randolph relaxed against the firm grip when he heard the voice. He was pulled up into the light, and he found himself staring at a many legged snake-like creature, its face nearly the size of Randolph’s torso. Myriad black eyes focused in on him as he smiled at what he recognized to be Nyarlathotep, even if he had never seen or even heard of this form before. He was shifted from the claw to a set of mandibles under the face, still held with them pressing gently into the back of his neck. He hung limply and glanced up as they began moving.

”You don’t control me,” said Randolph softly. Regardless, the painfully fast beating of his heart and the stilted breaths he was taking began to calm as he felt the god’s hold on him. ”And this isn’t my fault. You weren’t answering any of my questions, so I had to go and investigate for myself.”

”If I had answered your questions, you would have been more determined to find this place.” The mandibles pushed in a bit harder. ”There are things that live in this mountain. I have no desire to deal with them, and I knew that the more you found out the more interested you would be.”

Randolph huffed quietly. He wasn’t wrong. He twisted in the hold to glance back at the quickly shrinking peak. It looked no different. ”So you don’t know? Or are you just afraid of it?” He challenged. There was a loud clicking from inside the head, which he interpreted as laughter.

”The gods exist throughout the Dreamlands. I harbor no  _ fear _ , but I won’t get into a conflict with a Great Old One if I don’t need to. You, on the other hand, are stupid enough to try your luck whether you’re ignorant or not. Given your penchant for angering gods, I assumed that the less you knew, the sooner you would forget and move to a safer foolish journey.”

”You were clearly hiding some information. I’m not going to be satisfied by that.”

”I learned that when I watched you travel out from the palace. You tried to hide it from me, too. I’m quite hurt by that.” They stopped outside of a small village. Nyarlathotep did not drop Randolph, but he did pull the rest of the long body closer. Randolph watched as the length of plated muscle receded in on itself, from perhaps a mile long to only a few hundred feet. His head hurt as he tried to imagine where the length was going. 

”You knew the whole time?”

”You’ve always been a terrible liar,” said Nyarlathotep. That was true, but Randolph couldn’t help but think there was some other factor. He ran his thumb over the brooch before looking up. The soft green fields and thick forests he had travelled through on his way from Ilek-Vad were only visible in the far distance. Beneath him he saw sparser, pointed grass and tall spruces scattered around. 

”Are we not going to Ilek-vad?” asked Randolph. His voice was weak as he thought about what his city would have thought of his disappearance. He travelled on his own frequently, but now his heart ached to see the palace cats and rosy stone buildings. 

”To Kadath.”

Randolph shook in the grip. At the very least he would try to break free from the mandibles, and his arms reached up to grab at them and pry them open. But Nyarlathotep’s form was stronger - and as he struggled, they pressed in to the point of eliciting just enough pain. ”If you don’t wish to, you may tell me. But I have no intention of letting you try to disappear again. If you died, I would have to wait millennia upon millennia to find someone to occupy me half as much.”

”At least take me to Ilek-Vad,” said Randolph. His voice was a slightly shamed mumble as he hung limp. The length of the immense centipede’s body turned, and Nyarlathotep began to move towards Randolph’s city.


	5. Mouth Stitched Shut, Nodens and Nyarlathotep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for nightmaredaisy on tumblr.  
> Ironically, I finished this after getting my first piercing ever.  
> Warning for mentions of noncon.

It was not the first time that Nyarlathotep had been captured, but it was the longest time he had stayed captured.  
He had been pushing against the bonds in the back of the chariot for the past hour. Nodens, evidently, had found some way to bind him that wouldn’t be broken by a quick recitation. The standards quickly fizzled out and left his wrists and ankles chafing (pain in the human avatar was always extra unpleasant) from the ropes. He gave one last spasm against the bonds and hissed in pain before looking back up to the hunter.  
“I assume you know better than to try and kill me, so I might as well ask what your intentions are.” Nyarlathotep tried to speak calmly as he stared at Nodens’ back.  
He got no response. Nyarlathotep cleared his throat and repeated himself, louder this time, with his eyes burning into Nodens where he sat in the chariot. Still, the only sound was that of the wind rushing around them. Nyarlathotep narrowed his eyes and kicked his foot out; even then Nodens did nothing in response. He sank back against the chariot.  
There had to be something he could say to get a rise out of the god. His plan formed itself in his mind. He would provoke Nodens - anger him to the point where the chariot would stop and Nodens would grab Nyarlathotep to teach him a lesson. But for Nodens to use the lash on him, or really to do anything, would require the knotted rope that held Nyarlathotep in the chariot to be undone, and Nyarlathotep could flee across the plains to an allied god. All he had to do was find the right thing to provoke Nodens.  
“I presume you’re taking me to be your consort,” said Nyarlathotep, after some thought. “And frankly, I’m quite offended that you would simply kidnap me without even attempting seduction. I know it’s antithetical to what you are, but I would have been impressed if you even put in the effort.“  
Nodens, again, did nothing. Nyarlathotep frowned and shifted in the bonds again. “You don’t have to act stoic and unaffected,“ he said. “You aren’t capturing me out of benevolence, it’s for pleasure - and I know exactly what kind of pleasure you want.“ He pushed out again - this time, his foot caught Noden’s leg before the chains made it jerk back. Nyarlathotep hissed in anger.  
“Look - I don’t get how it’s so difficult for you to say you want to fuck me. It’s patently obvious - otherwise, you would just be ending the only decent game you have. You’re either going to fuck me and let me go, or keep me around to fuck me. You could at least tell me what you plan to do, no?“  
That did get, at least, one response. Nodens turned back. “Quit flattering yourself,“ he said. Then he returned to push the chariot along, leaving Nyarlathotep seething.  
“Flattering myself? I’m the only one you hunt that puts up a fight, and I know I am far more attractive than anything you could plausibly get. There’s no other logical reason for you to be doing this - you want to fuck me.“  
Nodens grunted in what Nyarlathotep perceived as annoyance. Clearly he was getting to him. “Unless, of course, you can’t,“ he added. Nyarlathotep stretched out in the back of the chariot and smiled up towards the back of Nodens’ head. “You’re quite human, aren’t you? Sure, I look like this, but it’s a choice - I can be anything I want. You mostly have this form - and all the limitations associated with it. You can be processed by a human because you’re basically one of them - you have offspring with them, you work to help them. I’m too far above you for you to even try and-“  
The chariot finally did stop. Nyarlathotep sat up as Nodens faced him. The Elder God’s face was neutral; Nyarlathotep was smiling. But the smile fell as Nodens moved closer and undid the chains. He wrapped hands around Nyarlathotep and pulled him off of the chariot, slamming him against the ground. Nyarlathotep instinctually tried to take a new form, but found he could not. It had to be the bonds that remained around his wrists and hands that kept him as a human, and he cursed himself for always choosing this avatar.  
Now he was close to a panic. He had mostly been taunting when he talked about Nodens wanting to fuck him. Of course Nyarlathotep knew that Nodens had some desire to - for the Crawling Chaos, that was a given. But with the animosity created between them over the years, and what Nyarlathotep knew about the hunter, he had no expectation of anything actually happening. He struggled and thrashed against the hold in an attempt to make Nodens lose his grip. The hand around his arm only got tighter, to the point where it hurt. Regardless, he wouldn’t give Nodens anything. “You’re going to fuck me here? You’re making me suspect this won’t be the only part of it you rush.“  
Nodens said nothing as he produced something from a leather bag around his waist. It was small in the god’s large hand, and Nyarlathotep slowly processed it as an awl and a long, leather string. Now the hand on his arm went to his hair and jerked his head back as Nodens pinned Nyarlathotep’s torso with his foot. “I have teeth, you know,“ hissed Nyarlathotep.  
Instead of anything improper, Nyarlathotep simply saw the awl approaching his face. Then it shoved forcefully through his lip, and he screamed. Nodens was not gentle, and Nyarlathotep’s mouth bled from the hole. “What are you doing?“ He breathed. Nodens stayed as silent as always as he pulled the leather thread through the hole. Nyarlathotep could feel its rough edges scratching up against the wound, and he whined in pain before Nodens made a second hole in his lower lip and tugged it tight.  
Nyarlathotep protested as Nodens kept sewing more of his mouth. He yelled about how Nodens couldn’t do this, how he had to just let him go, how Azathoth would destroy him. It had as little effect as his initial taunts. The god was methodical with his work, making many holes and crossing the thread over. Sometimes the awl would be jabbed into Nyarlathotep’s gums, making him taste ichor and feel a new pain of the threads pressing up against the gum wounds. Nodens paid no mind to any noises of pain, just as he ignored any taunts or insults or protests. When half of his mouth was shut by the crossing leather, Nyarlathotep resorted to trying to move his head out of the way.  
This failed when Nodens shoved the needle through the side of Nyarlathotep’s cheek, pressing up into his cheekbone in a blunt, stabbing pain. Nyarlathotep formed a scream in the back of his throat while Nodens yanked the needle out of his cheekbone. “Stay still,“ said Nodens. His tone was not even angry. He simply admonished Nyarlathotep like a disobedient child as he brutalized his mouth and gums.  
Nyarlathotep stared desperately up at Nodens as he neared the end of his mouth. He twisted his head as best as he could manage - perhaps the thread would snap. He yanked his neck back and forth again, twisting away while Nodens tugged the thread taut. Each of the now over a dozen holes in his mouth burned as they felt the irritation of the leather.  
Nodens had no time for this. He grabbed Nyarlathotep’s neck and yanked in back in place. “I told you to stay still,“ he said. He squeezed. Nyarlathotep did not need to breathe, but the instincts of the avatar always remained when he inhabited it. He wanted to grab at his neck, to get out of the grip, to inhale deeply. Even if he needed no oxygen, it hurt not to have it.  
Eventually Nodens let go. “There are three left. It will hurt more if you don’t stay still.“ He raised the awl, and for once, Nyarlathotep did as told. He shook as he felt the new holes being made and the thread being put in place. After the third, he relaxed - but Nodens formed two final holes to wrap the thread between before he would knot it off. He re-entered the holes three times with the needle, and Nyarlathotep could feel each one against raw, exposed tissue.  
Noden’s fingers touched open wounds as they tied the leather in a thick knot. Nyarlathotep could not help but run his tongue against the leather in his mouth, even though that irritated and hurt almost every hole. He made one last noise of protest in the back of his throat as Nodens jerked him up to shove him back onto the chariot and chained him down. But instead of trying to wriggle free and annoy Nodens, he lay flat. Nyarlathotep had no desire to be seen and noticed anymore.  
Strangely enough, his eyes hurt as well. He stared at what was beneath him as tears began to fall down his cheek. He screeched from the back of his throat as the saltwater hit his cheek wound, then the holes in his mouth. But there was nothing more to be done - even his noises of pain were muffled enough that Nodens could easily annoy him.  
Nyarlathotep lay in fear with the anticipation of where he was being taken.


	6. Dragged by the Ankle, Rantep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon for bad things happen bingo

“You say you plan to contact the emissary, Carter?”

“Not that I plan to - that I have considered it.“ Randolph sighed as he corrected Waite. He reached to pour himself a second glass of sherry and leaned back in the chair. “I need more information on the Dreamlands again, and frankly, he’s the only one I expect to know something I don’t already.’’ He gave a scornful look to the grimoires set out on the table, as Willett sighed.

“Carter, you of all people should know how dangerous this is. I don’t understand how you’re able to be so… so  _ blasé  _ with your own wellbeing. Shouldn’t you leave well enough alone by now?”

Randolph stood up now. He glanced down upon the two of them and shook his head. ”It’s too late to leave well enough alone,” he said. ”I spent decades trying to get back to the Dreamlands, I have it now, but I want to make him answer for that loss.” 

”But you don’t even know if it was him who caused it.”

”He has to know something, doesn’t he? Who else am I supposed to ask?”

This question was met with silence, as Randolph paced around the room with his glass. He stood near the vent now, looking them over. ”See - you don’t have an answer to that. He’s best shot I have, damn it, and if he tries to kill me...” Randolph pressed his lips together. ”It’s a risk I’ll take. We’re all risking our lives just by studying this stuff, so I might as well seek answers to the one thing I really want to know.” 

He took a deep breath after finishing his speech, waiting for Waite to scoff at him, or Willett to admonish him for being so reckless. Instead, they again were silent. ”Well?” Asked Randolph. He put his hands on his hips and laughed. ”Really, you always are so critical, but I have yet to see you state another plan.”

The two of them continued to simply stare at him. He stared them back, as Waite eventually pointed a finger at him. ”Carter, your…. Your foot...” The two of them were sheet white, and Waite’s hand trembled as the finger angled towards Randolph’s left leg. Randolph looked down - himself feeling all the blood drain from his head and seeing the familiar edging of gray around his vision when he noticed the black tendril that circled loosely around his ankle. He kicked his leg out to dislodge it, at which point it tightened. Randolph slammed jaw-first into the hardwood floor and heard a nasty crack; his tongue tasted blood.

He screamed and grabbed out for Willett and Waite. But the two of them sat frozen in their armchairs, Willett next to the glass of wine he had dropped onto the floor. ”Help me!” screamed Randolph, as the tendril started to tug him towards the door which had not previously been open. Waite was the first to stand up and grab Randolph’s wrist, tugging in the opposite direction of the tentacle. It hurt, but Randolph contracted his stomach and pulled his knees and shook as he tried desperately to escape the grasp of whatever  _ thing  _ was trying to take him. Willett joined after Waite yelled at him - but as the three of them began to pull together, the tentacle grew in strength.

Randolph was jerked roughly from the hands of Willett and Waite. He screamed as he was dragged at the door, clawing his fingernails along the floor until his hands were full of splinters and grabbing at the door frame only to be jerked so hard a few of his fingers broke. His head made it through the door with one last call for help.

And then he was out of the room. He was not even in the building. He was tugged through some tunnel, it seemed - entirely black and smooth and soundless except for his own screams and pleas to the unknown assailant to free him. He was ignored; slammed up against some kind of wall or floor that left him feeling like he would bruise - or break more of his bones. Soon his screams died out into cries of pain, continuing and growing more quiet and more futile down the length of the tunnel.

Eventually it was over. He lay on his back, bruised, bleeding from various parts of his body, bones screaming in pain, and staring at a high ceiling. He was still, for it hurt too much to move. He looked up and blinked slowly. He felt disoriented and confused; among the parts of his body that hurt was his entire head. He didn’t know how many times it must have been hit.

Into his vision came a face. It was one he recognized - in fact, the one he was seeking. Randolph groaned out the name - ”Nyarlathotep” - but was too tired and pained to even ask him why he had done this.

”I wanted to see you as well,” said Nyarlathotep. ”You were dawdling on the summoning. Luckily, you’re easy to keep tabs on.”

Randolph still made noises of pain. He heard and processed the words, and the identity of his kidnapper, but he could not think to respond to him coherently. ”And? You have nothing to say? Why would you summon me if you intended to be so reticent?”

”...pain,” said Randolph. Nyarlathotep’s head tilted to the side. He placed his hand on Randolph’s blood covered mouth, pulling fingers through it and putting them to his mouth.

”You’re bleeding,” he finally remarked, as if he had needed the taste to confirm that fact. Randolph could not even nod at that. ”Oh, you’re quite injured. How did that happen?”

Randolph felt like he was going insane, for the look on Nyarlathotep’s face seemed that of concern and confusion. ”You,” said Randolph. Nyarlathotep seemed to understand - and his eyes widened. Then he began to move hands over the human - sealing up any cuts and putting together the broken bones. Randolph groaned. The healing was painful and loud; his body seized and spasmed as he felt the parts of his body coming together. Then he fell back to the floor, still exhausted.

”Now - what was it you wanted with me?” Asked Nyarlathotep. He crouched next to Randolph; his fingers prodded the human in the face. 

”You kidnapped me,” said Randolph back.

”You really are quite caught up on the details, you know. It would do you well to focus on the situation at hand.” Nyarlathotep crossed his arms and looked quite petulant. Randolph groaned again and rolled onto his side. ”Yes, you’re my captive, but you still wanted something. It’s not polite to leave me waiting.”

Randolph shut his eyes. He put his hands over his ears, and was met with more prodding and shaking. He let out another long groan and looked back at Nyarlathotep. ”What do you want with me?” He asked.

”Oh, you’re a fascinating little thing. I was missing you in the Dreamlands, so I decided to take you out of the Waking World.” Nyarlathotep rolled Randolph again onto his back. He still had his quizzical frown. ”You were about to summon me, were you not? Isn’t this just solving your little problem?”

”It’s far from ideal,” grumbled Randolph. But he met Nyarlathotep’s eyes and slowly sat up. ”I’m cold,” he eventually announced. Immediately, a blanket fell upon his head.  _ So this is how things will be _ , he thought darkly.

”Oh, don’t worry. I know how to take good care of a human.” Nyarlathotep smiled, and Randolph lay back on the floor. ”Now get up, I need to change you out of those  _ awful _ drab clothes.” He tugged at Randolph’s shirt collar, and Randolph was finally energized enough to pull up and away from him. 

”You aren’t undressing me,” said Randolph. He stood up now, against the wall. ”If-If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going now,” he said. He looked around for the door, but he found none. ”Excuse me.  I need to leave.”

”Why would you need to do that?” Asked Nyarlathotep.

”I don’t belong to you - I don’t know what you were thinking, but you do have to let me go.”

Nyarlathotep pouted. ”I don’t  _ have _ to,” he said. Randolph realized with a shiver that the god was right. Was petulant, wanting Nyarlathotep more dangerous than angry and outright violent Nyarlathotep? Randolph didn’t want to find out. But he tried to stand his ground, crossing his arms and meeting the eyes of the god. 

”I’ll give you the night,” said Randolph. Nyarlathotep narrowed his eyes at him, and Randolph felt himself shake.

”I don’t have to let you go,” said Nyarlathotep again. He looked over Randolph with a predatory, and quite hungry look. 

”Let me go after the night, or kill me. Otherwise I’ll just go limp again,” threatened Randolph. And while Nyarlathotep didn’t answer, he huffed, and a door appeared in the wall.


	7. Truth Potion/Serum, Rantep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by a-deliciouslyfadingcollection on tumblr.

Randolph knew he was doing something dangerous from the moment he purchased the vial. Regardless, he wasn’t about to let that stop him. Nyarlathotep had been coming around for a month now, and Randolph was tired of all the non-answers and teasing. Conveniently, however, wine was typically a feature of these meetings. It was a highly floral and fragrant wine that Nyarlathotep liked, and so when Randolph put twice the recommended amount in the bottle, it was near indetectable even to a minor god that resided in the palace.

“I have a meeting tomorrow, I shouldn’t,” he said, as he watched Nyarlathotep take the bottle and uncork it. His heart was racing; he felt Nyarlathotep had to be able to detect it. Luckily, Randolph was always nervous at these meetings. An elevated heart rate or flushing would not seem amiss, and Nyarlathotep did not comment as he began to sip from his glass.

“Amusing how you think that I won’t make your morning worse than the drink,” said Nyarlathotep, leaning back in the chair. He was only one glass in, and so far Randolph wasn’t expecting much. 

“I have to keep some veneer of responsibility,” said Randolph. He glanced down from the balcony. Nyarlathotep had performed some kind of magic to conceal them, but Randolph still looked out every few moments to check. “It makes me look bad if I say that I was drinking the night before, but if I’m covered in bruises I could always just say I fell down the stairs.”

“Gods know they’d believe it.” Nyarlathotep’s lip twitched up. Randolph rolled his eyes; though he was smiling. “And if I had my way, it would be more than just bruises.”

“You know I haven’t stopped you before,” said Randolph.

Nyarlathotep glanced over him. “I suppose that’s true. I was trying to ramp it up slowly, to ease you in - but really, I still feel like you want more. Twisted little human, aren’t you?” He drained what was now his second glass.

Randolph only leaned in a bit closer. “What makes you say that?” He asked. Nyarlathotep stood up, glass in hand.

“First of all, I know about the little potion you slipped me. I only just noticed it - so I suppose anything  _ improper  _ I say is my punishment for not smelling it from the start.” He narrowed his eyes and glanced down at Randolph. “So you might as well start asking me things, Randolph Carter.”

Randolph met Nyarlathotep’s eyes. They were narrowed at him, and the typically black irises were catching the light and making it dance. His lips had curled upwards into a smile, but his brow was pointed down in the same way it did when he was faced with somebody who had displeased him. As rare as Randolph knew this opportunity was, he shivered. Perhaps he would not ask anything at all, and would simply allow Nyarlathotep to come down from the effects of the potion before trying anything.

“Well?”

Randolph glanced down. “I… recognize that what I did was wrong,” he started. His voice kept getting caught in his throat; he felt he had to push the words out. “I won’t ask you anything-”

“No, no, no.” Nyarlathotep stood up. He poured another glass of the spiked wine for himself. “My first thought was to force you to drink it yourself - of course, I don’t need any serums to know things about you, but it’s just more fun to watch you say it yourself and listen to what you’re saying and taste your  _ shame _ . No, you managed to get the better of me, and I deserve what I get.” 

“That’s… mature of you,” said Randolph. Nyarlathotep’s eyes flashed again. He lunged forward and grabbed Randolph. With the force Nyarlathotep used, he shoved Randolph across the room and hard into the wall, enough that Randolph was certain he’d have significant bruising just for that.

“Don’t mock me. You can choose to ask me questions or not - but if you choose not to, then I shall do far more than I originally intended to. We both shall face punishment tonight, but I, as generous as I am, will be first.” He dropped Randolph to return to the chair, and sat back. Randolph pulled himself up slowly; he placed his hand on his lower back.

“You know you threw me.”

Nyarlathotep tilted his head. “I just was trying to push you against the wall,” he said. “You always get…  _ broken _ so easily.” Randolph watched his confusion as he sat on the bed. It had to be genuine, and he attempted to hide his surprise. He had always thought Nyarlathotep meant to hurt him.

“So you think I won’t be hurt if I’m just… thrown around?” Asked Randolph.

“I mean, I know humans are  _ fragile _ , but I never expect you to break so easily.” He paused. “Do I need to fix anything?”   
Randolph shook his head as he sat on the bed. He crossed his arms beneath him and looked at Nyarlathotep. “Why are you…. Interested in my health, and wellbeing then? You do heal me quite a lot - I’d expect you to simply… leave me injured.” He asked.

Nyarlathotep rolled his eyes again. “Because I  _ like _ you?” He asked, crossing his arms. “I like watching you hurt, but it’s no fun when I know it’s just going to make you not want to be around me. So, I heal you, so I don’t have to worry about breaking you too much.” He shrugged, and Randolph nodded. That did make sense - and frankly, for Nyarlathotep, it seemed rather close to a more genuine affection.

“But you want me around.” He pursed his lips as he tried to form a question, and he could not. So he sighed, and decided to take a direct approach. “Elaborate on that?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. I know you can be a little  _ slow _ at times-”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you not trust the strange man in the bar who drugged you? Did you not listen to me, when you had heard my reputation? Did you not-”

“I get it,” said Randolph - his face slightly warm. He decided not to take it as an insult.

“I enjoy your presence. You’re cute-” Randolph’s face flushed harder “- and you’re especially fun to see in agony, even more so than most humans. And you actually push back. I’ve had humans resist me before, but I could so easily just put them down.” He flicked his hand, as if pushing something over. “You have your little key, and Yog wouldn’t be happy if I broke you too hard. So I have to deal with you being all resistant, and when you  _ aren’t _ , it’s all the more sweeter.” He paused again. “And you’re cute, you get so loud and your skin bruises so easily... I think once you’re done questioning me, I shall open up your ribs and string all the flesh between them. I haven’t yet played with your heart, have I?”

Randolph smiled. “You’ve certainly played with my heart,” he said.

“ _ Gods _ .” Nyarlathotep huffed and crossed his arms. “You’re lucky I find how awful your jokes can be charming, you know. Any other human would have their tongue ripped out for that.”

“But you can’t, because of Yog.”

“Yog doesn’t need your tongue, does he?”

“You do.”

“I’ll rip it out when I’m opening you,” he said. “I’ll let you watch as I play with it, too. Seeing you opened up always gets me some kind of way.”

Randolph shivered. It got him that same kind of way - and he pulled a blanket over himself to draw attention away from that. Nyarlathotep opened his mouth, but Randolph shot him a stern look. “Anyway, I suppose you’re a challenge. All the praise, and fawning, I get from humans… I like it, but I know it’s because they’re sycophants. You could call me a bitch and throw me out, and I would have boundaries on what kind of revenge I could even get. It’s fun to try and win your approval.”

Randolph had had other questions. He had wanted to ask Nyarlathotep more about what it meant that he was the emissary of the gods, if he had ever spoken about the relationship to others, about what he saw the hookups progressing to. But instead, he simply pulled up off of the bed and hugged Nyarlathotep.

The god’s form stiffened. The more human aspects shifted, and Randolph felt tendrils and appendages and other parts shift in his hold. But he continued to cling to Nyarlathotep despite this. He pushed his head against what was once a chest, until he felt something wrap around himself. “I… didn’t expect that to be so impactful,” he said. “Emotional little thing.” But even though the words were condescending, the tone was off-guard.

Randolph squeezed tighter against him. He hadn’t thought it to mean so much either - but something had compelled him to hold onto Nyarlathotep, to bury his head against the god and hold tight. It was hard to bring himself to let go; even when he did he stayed in Nyarlathotep’s lap. He kept his hands on Nyarlathotep’s waist; Nyarlathotep’s settled a fair bit lower and gave a gentle squeeze. “Pervert,” said Randolph, smiling.

“It seems you’re done with your questions,” said Nyarlathotep. He met Randolph’s smile with his own sharper one. 

“At least let me enjoy the moment before you brutalize me.” Randolph nipped Nyarlathotep’s earlobe as if to show annoyance, and Nyarlathotep chuckled. He pulled Randolph closer against himself and sat him between his thighs, holding him around his stomach and leaning down. Randolph felt small - but even with the knowledge of what was to come, he only felt comfortable and happy.

“I will,” said Nyarlathotep, bent down to let his voice blow warm against Randolph’s ear. “And I want you right here when I torture you.”


	8. Nerve Damage // rantep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randolph Carter has a visitation after being hit by shelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was for saryum21 on tumblr.

Randolph Carter had known since he was a child that his death would come in this battle. He had not expected it to come so soon.

He lay in the mud next to a destroyed shed. The walls stood up next to him, shards of wood pointing up into the sky. A shingle had lodged itself in Randolph’s thigh. It pressed in deep between mangled bits of fat and muscle; he could feel the stone scraping against the bone, almost hear it when he tried to stir. A piece of wood was embedded in his abdomen. It was surrounded by splinters of various sizes that worked themselves deeper into Randolph’s body as he breathed. The rain fell onto him and washed the blood from his wounds. It mixed into the mud before the red was overcome by the dirt, washed down from his body to a stream that had not existed in the sun. 

His breath came shallow. Among his injuries was a large gash across his throat. Randolph did not see what had caused it. The blast had thrown him several feet across the ground and riddled his body with shrapnel. One arm was bent backwards at the elbow and pinned behind his back as he gasped around the hole in his throat. The bone poked through the skin and pushed against his back, leaving it arched as he lay. 

He had seen this coming. Not explicitly, of course. But he had heard the name of the village whispered in his skull when he was a child. He had walked to the library to procure a book of maps and look up Belloy-En-Santerre. Upon seeing it printed next to the line of the Somme he immediately had grown nauseated and collapsed. When the librarian had roused him from the ground, Randolph could not speak - only gasping as if something had torn through his voice box. 

The pain then was exactly the same as the pain now. The threat of the breaths being insufficient hung just as close to Randolph. Even if he was found and brought to safety, he knew he had to die. No man would survive these wounds - no doctor could sew his throat back together, or remove all of the shrapnel, or repair whichever organs had been damaged. He had to be out of blood as well - and the mud surely would bring some horrible infection. Even if somehow, Randolph pulled through that, he had no desire to live on with his body so mangled. How would he eat when he could feel stomach acid oozing out in his abdomen? How would he go about his life with legs shredded and an arm pulled so far out of place it may as well have been severed? How would he even function after the war?

Randolph closed his eyes. The rain blinded him anyway - he had no need to see. He felt no need to scream. After all, he had been close to death at his own hand many times before. Something always drew him back. But when a German (or maybe French, it didn’t matter much) shell did it, Randolph’s willpower was unimportant. All it would take was a few more minutes and his brain would be out of oxygen.

He heard footsteps approaching up the hill. With what remained of his voice, he swore. A rescue and extra agony was the last thing he wanted. He had seen how other soldiers were treated; he had seen the success rates. With the good arm, he tried to put mud over his face - maybe that would mask him enough and keep him out of the damned hospital. But to his chagrin, the footsteps approached him, and Randolph recognized the uniform of a German soldier.

“You look terrible,” the soldier drawled. Randolph groaned quietly in response. He could say nothing for the wounds on his neck. He did look up at the soldier, however. The face looked rather familiar to him; Randolph could not place it. It was haughty and remarkably clean for the conditions of the war, and the eyes absorbed all light. With his bayonet he poked Randolph in the ribs. Randolph groaned.

“Surely, you know who I am,” said the soldier. Randolph did not. For a moment, the soldier’s eyes flashed, a bright gold through the grey rain. It still drew no recognition. “Regardless. You are not supposed to die here. Frankly, it was oversight on my part. Luckily enough, I was able to track you down.” 

Now Randolph tried to look harder at the soldier. He could barely focus through all of the pain, and the falling rain obscured the details of his face. But now the man looked familiar. A burst of pain spread from behind his eye through his head like little needles boring holes into his skull. He screamed. “Poor little human, running off to war to feel like you mean something,” said the soldier. Finally he crouched next to Randolph. “You didn’t think you would actually get hurt, did you?” His hand reached out to stroke his mud and blood soaked hair, and Randolph leaned into it. “You’re so stupid, Randolph Carter. It’s adorable.”

Randolph groaned again. The hands ran down his body and touched him gently. “I could fix you up perfectly,” he said. “But… You did run out into a bombing range without any regard for your wellbeing, when we have all these plans for you. We’ll have to make sure you remember this.” The soldier first sealed up Randolph’s neck, allowing him to breathe. Randolph drew in his breaths gratefully; at the same time he shook with fear and said nothing. Then the soldier rolled him over and grabbed the broken arm. He tugged it hard into its proper place, and for the first time, Randolph screamed. With his face against the ground the mud entered his mouth and nose, but the pain of his shoulder being jerked and pulled through muscle let him ignore the foul taste of the dirt. But at the end of it, he could move his arm properly - apart from a twinge when he bent his shoulder a certain way.

It was the same pain whenever he bent his arm. It felt like somebody was poking an electric wire into the flesh. He winced and stopped moving while the soldier continued to touch and put together the wounds. Bones were wrenched into place and skin was pulled together with white scars as his bandages. An experimental touch to the scar drew the same shocks. 

“Yes, I think you’ll remember that.” The soldier stood up and looked down upon him. Randolph narrowed his eyes again as he tried to find something he could recognize. There was something - something that he could not place, as if he were staring at someone he knew through a sheet of frosted glass. “Think about this the next time you see me. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

And the soldier was vanished, and Randolph lay alone and in phantom pain in the same flat of mud.


	9. Pneumonia // Rantep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For actualblanketgoblin on tumblr, who requested 'Pneumonia for the bingo prompt where Randolph hasn't been to the Dreamlands for a while so Nyarla decides to go and see what's keeping him and Randolph is Very Sick'

“Where have you been?”

The question hit Randolph across the face with the palm that landed hard and sharp on his cheek. He rolled onto his back to look up - the fever had tore through his muscles days ago, and he still found it hard to move. A blurry figure stood over him. But he could recognize Nyarlathotep with or without his glasses. In fact, the tone of voice and the force of the slap had indicated who the intruder was. He responded to the questioning with a weak cough.

“Randolph Carter, I asked you a question. I do expect an answer.”

Randolph, in his semi-delirious state, gave the best withering look that he could manage. He met the center of Nyarlathotep’s face as he did this, but before he felt he had really reached the god, his body was taken by a series of chills. He shook under his blankets and grabbed onto Nyarlathotep’s arm. Maybe that would give some indication of the current state he was in.

It did not. Nyarlathotep pulled his arm away and shoved Randolph’s glasses roughly onto his face. “I can see anything in the Dreamlands, if I so choose. I went to your palace first, but found you had not been there. I looked for you after, and found no trace of your dream self. I had to track you down out here. And  _ now _ ,” he said, grabbing Randolph by the chin and pulling him up, “you won’t even say anything in response.”

Randolph coughed. The first cough was a weak response, but it fed into a larger coughing fit. He shook in Nyarlathotep’s hold and watched, unable to be scared or shocked, as yellow mucus flew from his mouth and landed on the god’s cheek. Nyarlathotep dropped him, eyes wide, as he raised a finger to wipe away the substance. “You  _ spat _ on me.”

“I’m ill.”

Nyarlathotep narrowed his eyes. To Randolph, it seemed he was trying to suss out what that really meant. Randolph crossed his arms and drew in the blanket around himself. “It means that I have to stay in bed until I’m well.”

“You have doctors, do you not?”

That part was true. Randolph fell back onto his side as Nyarlathotep rolled his eyes. “And you decided not to go, and you left me alone and annoyed. You need to be more responsible, Randolph Carter.” He looked down on Randolph as Randolph fell into another harsh coughing fit. This one was accompanied by more chills. He felt his chest and throat tighten as he curled under the blanket and tried to breathe. Every inhale felt like something he had to battle for. “Are you listening?” Nyarlathotep grabbed Randolph by the shoulder as he stayed trying to breathe. Again, there was a slap to Randolph’s face, and again, it elicited heavy coughing. 

“Then fix me.”

“I’ve fixed you enough.”

Randolph groaned loudly. “You know, humans die from this,” he said. He lay back on his pillow and focused on inhaling, watching Nyarlathotep through the corner of his eye. He was used to these little tantrums. Really, he didn’t mind the slapping, or now the storming around and muttering in Aklo. When tentacles came out, then he would have to put a stop to it. 

But the tentacles never came out. Instead, Nyarlathotep was studying him. “But I can’t simply come to your aid every time you do something stupid,” he said. He now ran fingers through Randolph’s hair, looking down on him with his lower lip pushed out. “But if you die...”

Randolph said nothing. He looked up at Nyarlathotep and waited for the god to come to his conclusion - presumably to heal him.

“I’ll simply have to stay and watch you.”

 

To Nyarlathotep’s credit, he actually did stay in the house. He brought Randolph food and gave him his medicine, despite looking at the label and scoffing that it would do nothing for him. When Randolph dragged himself out of bed to bathe Nyarlathotep stood with his arms crossed and looked down on him, putting a hand on the bath to keep the water warm. Nyarlathotep cut meat for the cats and left a gentle perfume in the air of the house. When Randolph was awake (and, he presumed, when he was asleep) Nyarlathotep would talk at length about outer god affairs, or what was happening in the Dreamlands. Overall, the typically exhausting presence actually did help Randolph stay lucid through the illness.

But it did not stop the congestion. As Nyarlathotep had said, the medicine did nothing. He would start hacking up blood in front of the god, who would frown at him as if to say ‘this is what you get’. Randolph felt too proud to ask him to fix it, so he allowed himself to wake up at two in the morning to start coughing onto his bedroom floor. His cats would stand and stare straight at Nyarlathotep, who sat impassive and scolded Randolph.

“Maybe if you had gone to the Dreamlands when you could, you wouldn’t be dealing with this.” he reminded Randolph.

“You’ve told me before,” rasped Randolph. He reached for the cup of water that Nyarlathotep kept permanently full and sipped some.  “Can you just heal me already? Sure, I’ve learned my lesson. You can even do whatever after,” he said. 

But Nyarlathotep would not. He would not even dignify that with an answer, apparently, because as Randolph began to cough and wheeze again, Nyarlathotep crossed his arms and stormed out of the room. Randolph spasmed and shook in the bed. He grabbed onto his pillow as he struggled again for breath. He breathed out Nyarlathotep’s name through his hacking and attempts at breaths, but the god did not return. Eventually the exhaustion overcame the pain, however, and Randolph passed out.

 

When Randolph awoke, it was still dark, and Nyarlathotep was present again. He could not draw a full breath. His first thought, however, was not that. He looked up at Nyarlathotep and opened his lips to ask “Did you calm yourself down?”. Only when he attempted to make his retort did he realize he could not breathe.

Nyarlathotep tilted his head. He stared down at Randolph as Randolph began to panic - shaking and grabbing at Nyarlathotep. His hands gripped Nyarlathotep’s forearm and tugged it towards him as he struggled through the illness to take a full inhale. His head felt light and moved from side to side without his control, and his grip grew weak.

“What’s happening?” Asked Nyarlathotep, and Randolph could not stop himself from hitting him hard on the arm. He desperately wanted to yell at the god - “You’re a god, aren’t you?”. But he could not speak. Nyarlathotep, in annoyance, shoved Randolph down against the bed and glared at him. Randolph lay there as his vision greyed and his body started to ache, the feeling of warmth in his body and a heavy pressure through his head. 

His vision faded out, but in the last few seconds, he swore he saw Nyarlathotep moving to touch him. As consciousness left, he hoped that his vision was right.


End file.
